


nothing and everything

by sapphic_commander



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Clarke Angst, Clarke in M-Cap, Clexa Memories, Disciple Bellamy, Gen, M-Cap, Memory Capture, The 100 (TV) Season 7, Torture, idk how to do tags sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphic_commander/pseuds/sapphic_commander
Summary: Clarke could feel everything, yet nothing. She could feel the pain like a spear driven through her skull, like acid poured over her body. It consumed her, until there was nothing but the bright lights and her suffering.At the same time, the pain was dull, like a far-away thought she couldn’t grasp, like a name on the tip of her tongue, yet erased from her memory. She felt as though she was floating, out of her body, above it all.It was almost freeing.Maybe she was dying.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & Raven Reyes, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, this is my first post/fic, so please be nice! Any constructive criticism is welcome in the comments:) 
> 
> Warning: There are mentions of seizures, blood, and death (nothing too graphic, but a warning just in case). 
> 
> I wrote this in platonic way between Clarke and Bellamy, but to any Bellarke fans out there, it can also be interpreted romantically.

She knew it would come soon. She could only hold out for so long before her mind crumbled. 

She didn’t know how long it had been, how many years of her life they had watched, like some kind of entertainment. She vaguely remembered Cadogan’s little comments that made her blood boil. 

Oh, how she had wanted to rip his head from his body. 

How  _ dare  _ he have any say in what she had done in her life. 

She had fought, so hard, for so long. She could remember her screams, the agony, pain so hot and bright it drowned out everything around her. 

It filled all the gaps between her thoughts, paralyzed her, made her plead and beg. She didn’t want to, she wanted to keep up her strong facade, but words tumbled from her lips before she could register them.

They always repeated the same things. 

“Stop fighting, Clarke.”

“Tell us where the Key is.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” 

It got to the point where she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream anymore. Through tear-blurred eyes, she could see Bellamy staring at her, giving her a pitying look. 

There was no guilt, no apprehensiveness at what they were doing, any indication he cared that she was being tortured. 

How could he do this to her?

Make her relive everything she regretted?

Merely weeks ago he had been trying to get someone  _ out  _ of her head.

She could remember thrashing, the restraints ripping skin from her ankles and wrists, the spikes that were keeping her head in place digging into her skull.

Blood as black as night seeped down her face, dripped from her fingers.

It mixed with the cold sweat that coated her body, the tears that streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks. 

It was odd.

Clarke could feel everything, yet nothing. She could feel the pain like a spear driven through her skull, like acid poured over her body. It consumed her, until there was nothing but the bright lights and her suffering. 

At the same time, the pain was dull, like a far-away thought she couldn’t grasp, like a name on the tip of her tongue, yet erased from her memory. She felt as though she was floating, out of her body, above it all. 

It was almost freeing. 

Maybe she was dying. 

But she wasn’t. She was caught in-between, her strangled howls echoing through the room. 

“Clarke. Show us. Where is the Key?” Frustration edged into Cadogan’s voice, and if she had the strength or will, Clarke would have smiled. But she was too focused on not showing them. 

_ Don’t think about it, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.  _

_ Protect her.  _

For a while, the thrashing had worked. The pain grounded her, kept her from revealing too much.

By now, that physical pain was nothing but another fading memory, an image they had scrolled past on their little hologram. She could feel her thoughts,  _ their _ answers, crowding at the edges of her mind. She was much too close to giving it all away, like a dam waiting to burst. 

_ A different type of pain then. _

And though it hurt, worse than the machine did, Clarke forced herself to think of the most painful things she could remember. She could hear them playing out in front of the Disciples, but she had no choice,

A gunshot, then a sharp intake of breath. Lexa, bleeding out before Clarke, a smile lingering on her face, eyes empty. 

_ “I’ll always be with you.” _

Abby, being sucked into the vacuum of space, her scream fading as Clarke collapsed to the floor.

_ “Yes, it’s me Clarke.” _

Wells’ dead body, his eyes open, staring at the canopy of leaves. The way Clarke cried when she found him, so naive and unaware of how she would become accustomed to the way grief left a pit in the bottom of your stomach. 

_ “You killed my father.” _

Finn, the way his mouth fell open, the way his blood coated her hands, stuck to her. Raven’s horrible wail, her piercing eyes in the days following the murder.

_ “He killed them for  _ you _.” _

The Mountain Men screaming, clutching their arms, heads,  _ children _ , as they fell to the floor, convulsing. Jasper holding Maya, his breathing ragged, eyes wild.

_ “I could have saved her! I was going to save them all!” _

The empty desert surrounding her, the cool muzzle of a pistol pressed against the side of her head. The sound of wind stirring sand, the crackle of the radio she held in her hand. 

_ “I’m done, you hear me! Done! I’ve lost  _ everything _!” _

The rocket leaving, without her, the pain of her skin peeling off as she coughed up blood. The fear of not knowing whether they made it or not more nauseating than the smell of her burnt flesh. 

_ “This is Clarke Griffin, does anyone copy? Are you alive?” _

Her father, his last smile before the airlock doors opened. The fresh, new feeling of grief that opened a hole in her heart, that tightened her chest until she couldn’t breathe.

_ “I love you kid.” _

“Turn it up!” 

“Sir, she’ll-”

“I said, turn it up.” 

Then came one of the worst pains she’d ever felt. Almost worse than all the deaths she’d caused. Worse than all her friends hating her. Worse than Bellamy’s betrayal. 

Her back arched, eyes opening wide, but she couldn’t see. Everything was a haze of her own torment, a void opening in her chest, sucking all the life away, just like the airlock on the Ark. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as her limbs stiffened, eyes rolling back into her head. 

And then there was nothing. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this contains descriptions of blood, seizures, and vomiting. Once again, nothing too graphic or detailed, but a warning just in case. 
> 
> Was I writing this at 2am? Yes, absolutely I was. Luckily I had an extended Thanksgiving break so I've been able to work on this quite a bit.

Clarke could feel them dragging her through the halls, her feet catching on divots in the floor as they carried her from beneath her arms. 

Her head felt like it’d been crushed between two giant boulders. 

She could hear her own ragged breathing, almost too loud for her pounding headache. She couldn’t bring herself to move, her limbs weighed down as though filled with cement. Her head lolled from side to side as she was jostled, chin hanging low to touch her chest. Her skin felt tight with dried sweat and blood. Footsteps echoed behind her. She couldn’t count how many. 

Someone used the scanner, and she could hear the door unlock. 

Guns were cocked, blades drawn. 

“Step back!”

There was a collective gasp from several people. Clarke couldn’t even begin to imagine how horrid she looked, pale and bloody, clumps of damp hair obscuring her face. 

“Clarke?” someone whispered, disbelieving and afraid. Raven, maybe? Clarke couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore. “Is she- what happened?” 

Maybe they had scrambled her brain. 

Maybe they had finally broken Clarke Griffin.

“Bellamy.” This voice was low, dangerous. After a moment, Clarke recognized the gravelly undertone of Octavia. “What have you done?” 

“What I had to do,” came his clinical response, “for all mankind.” 

Clarke was dragged forward, and then people were touching her, picking her up, brushing sticky hair from her face. Clarke felt herself leaning away from touch, her body stuck in high alert, even though she knew she was safe now. 

“It’s ok, it’ll all be alright,” someone said, hushed, quiet. They were trying to comfort her, but Clarke could hear their voice quaver. Niylah. 

Clarke tried to speak, tried to push words from her throat, but nothing came out, and she only managed a sharp exhale. Before she could process anything, she was being laid down on a bed, a pillow set under her head, a blanket tucked around her. 

Then came yelling. 

“How could you do this? She’s your best friend!”

‘“Bellamy, you dumbass, what did you do?”

“I did what I had-”

“What does that even mean? You just tortured her!”

A cool cloth came down on her hairline, gentle and nurturing.

“She wasn’t cooperating. She didn’t have to fight.”

“Bellamy, who are you? Since when do you hurt Clarke?”

“The last time you saw her you were helping her get someone  _ out  _ of her mind!”

It was all too much. It was too loud. 

The ringing in her head intensified, and the yelling brought back memories of the hatred Clarke had faced from the others when they arrived in Sanctum. 

She remembered holding a cool blade to her throat, Murphy walking in on her, and the realization flashing on his face as he realized what Clarke had been brought to.

_ “You’re a cancer. And cancers need to be eliminated.” _

Clarke let out a strangled whimper, her trembling hands reaching up to cover her ears. 

“Be quiet. Her head.” Was that Echo? The room went silent, and Clarke could feel people’s stares, but she couldn’t open her eyes. She was tired.

So tired. 

Someone removed her hands, settling them gently across her stomach, then began to hum softly. 

“I’ll be back,” Bellamy said after a moment of hesitation. 

It sounded like a threat. 

“It’s ok Clarke. You can rest. Rest,” someone urged. 

Clarke obliged, a small sigh escaping her lips, allowing unconsciousness to pull her deep under, where she couldn’t feel. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Clarke came to, the first thing she felt was pain. 

Pain that had spread from her temples down to the base of her neck, that nearly immobilized her. 

Her wrists throbbed, her ankles were sore. 

Her throat felt raw, as if she had swallowed scalding hot water. 

Then came the memories.

M-Cap had brought them all to the surface, and all the suffering, guilt, anger, and grief flooded her at once. 

Clarke gasped, her eyes flying open. 

The whispering in the corner of the room ceased, and the hand smoothing the hair at the crown of her head stilled. 

“Clarke?” Everything came into blurry focus, and as Clarke blinked, Octavia’s face came into view. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but then regretted it, quickly rolling onto her side so that her head hung off of the bed. 

The sudden movement only sharpened her nausea, and Clarke vomited loudly, her hands gripping the edge of the bed. 

“I know, I know. It hurts,” came Octavia’s soothing voice. Clarke paused for a moment, but then the bile in her throat rose again, and she was throwing up until she was just heaving, nothing left. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. 

When she was done, Clarke slackened, too tired to even roll over. She closed her eyes, trying to slow her breathing, dizzying vertigo crashing over her. Octavia’s hands moved from her head to her shoulders, adjusting her so that her head sat in her lap. 

“The nausea, is it normal? Did it happen to you?” someone asked from the side. They sounded frantic, worried. 

“Yes, not as extreme as this though. I didn’t throw up, I just felt like it. However, from what we could hear and see, Levitt was much more merciful on me. I was conscious and mostly lucid when Hope came to get me.” Clarke opened her eyes again, trying to catch her bearings. 

They were in a bigger cell this time, and everyone was here. Hope, Jordan, Echo, Miller, Niylah, Gabriel, Raven, Octavia. 

Echo was slouched on another bed, gazing absently at the wall, her gaze occasionally flicking to Clarke. 

The others were clustered in the center of the room, Hope and Jordan standing slightly separated from them, touching shoulders. It was Gabriel who had been speaking to Octavia, who sat with Clarke. 

“Clarke, can you hear me?” Octavia asked, her voice calming and quiet. 

Clarke nodded, but only slightly, trying to avoid making her headache worse.

“Ye-” she attempted, but her voice caught in her throat, and she coughed, eyes watering. Niylah approached, holding a glass of water. Octavia propped Clarke up a bit, one hand supporting her lower back, the other guiding the cup to her lips. When she was done, Clarke turned her head away, so that they could only see one side of her face. 

“How long?” she asked. Her voice was raspy from the screaming. 

“Fourteen days. They brought you back last night,” Octavia responded. Clarke went silent for a moment out of shock. She hadn't had a sense of time in the blindingly white room, hadn't even been able to keep count of the amount of horrible memories they had gone through. 

If she really thought about it, that was 336 hours, also 20,160 minutes. For her, every single moment had been pure agony, like someone ripping her from limb to limb, both physically and psychologically. 

_ Fourteen days. 336 hours. 20,160 minutes. _

_ Fourteen days of being strapped to that chair. 336 hours of bleeding and crying. 20,160 minutes of me begging him to let me go.  _

_ Of screaming. _

_ Of Bellamy just  _ watching  _ me. _

“Did you tell them anything?” Miller asked. Clark felt her shoulders tighten defensively, a mask settling over her features. 

“I don’t think so,” she replied, voice clipped. “I can’t- remember.” 

“Bellamy said he would be back. I would assume that means they didn’t get the information they wanted,” Echo butted in. Clarke grimaced at the thought of going through that  _ again _ , but she pushed her fear down. She would worry about that later.

“What  _ do  _ you remember?” Jordan prompted gently. Clarke was silent for a moment, looking down at the floor, fiddling with her fingers to distract herself.

“Nothing.” She paused, thinking. “Everything.” She felt like it was a dream slipping through her fingertips, something she could remember so vividly, what it felt and tasted and looked like, but she couldn’t describe it with words. She was forgetting, but she could feel little remnants of emotions, feelings. 

At the same time, she could remember the horrible agony, the countless memories that flashed across their screens. She could remember her entire body locking up as the pain became too much, the disciples yelling that she was going to have a seizure if they didn’t stop. She could remember the feeling of the chair against her skin, the feeling of gloved hands holding her down, Cadogan's bored voice.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. Instead, Clarke leaned back against the wall, staring ahead at the door. 

Bellamy had said he would be back. She wasn’t about to be caught off guard again. 

As her mind tried to piece things together, she remembered something Octavia had said to Gabriel. 

_ “...from what we could hear...” _

Clarke’s face burned in shame. She could remember begging, pleading. Screaming angrily, then just screaming out of pain. When she had lost all of her awareness, she had started shrieking at the memories playing on the screen. Begging for forgiveness, a second chance. 

“How much did you hear?” she asked, almost a whisper, finally shifting her gaze. The others, who had begun conferring again, went silent. Raven turned to look at her, concern and even pity etched in the creased lines of her face. 

“Most of it. But it was all unintelligible towards the last two days.” 

“Be honest. Please.” 

Raven pursed her lips, obviously surprised, and unsure what to say. 

“We could hear what you were saying. But, I don’t understand why you were begging  _ them _ for forgiveness. It should’ve been the other way around.” Clarke managed to chuckle dryly, and once again, everyone looked at her. They probably thought she was a little crazy.

“I wasn’t talking to them.” She hesitated, unsure whether to reveal this. Screw it. They had already seen her at her weakest. “I was talking to the memories.” 

Once again, they waited for her to explain further. But Clarke was done talking for today. She rolled over, facing the wall, and tried feigning sleep. 

Eventually, she faded into a restless slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! This chapter was originally two separate chapters, but I found them a bit boring and anti-climatic separately, so I decided to combine them. 
> 
> Kudos and feedback are appreciated! 
> 
> I will be updating soon! This chapter took me a bit longer than I thought it would because I had to write more than I was planning on. 
> 
> In my opinion, the next chapters will be much more interesting, so look forward to that :) Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter contains mentions/descriptions of bones breaking, and vomiting

“Get out! Look at her! Look what  _ you’ve  _ done.”

“You’re not welcome here.”

“Leave! She’s traumatized, you idiot.”

“The Shepherd-”

“We don’t give a single damn about your Shepherd.”

Clarke sat up quickly, gasping at the sharp pain that spiked through her skull. For a moment her vision swam, and she was leaning over the edge of the bed again, the broth she had been fed between sleeping fits coming up. Panic had risen in her chest, and that only made it worse.

When she straightened, blinking tears from her eyes, she could see what the commotion was about.

Bellamy stood in the doorway, his robes the brightest thing in the grey room. The others surrounded him to block him from entering, two disciples with guns the only thing keeping them from attacking him.

He was going to take her back. 

Clarke quickly scrambled to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall when she couldn’t stand up straight. 

Flashes of memories appeared in front of her.

Lexa, her smooth skin and placid expression as she leaned in for a kiss.

The blood on her lips from coughing blood.

Finn, smiling gently as they gazed at a shooting star.

The madness that filled his eyes as he massacred a village.

Bellamy, telling her he would offer her the forgiveness she needed.

The brush of his hand against hers as she handcuffed her to a chair, the anger in his eyes pointed and hurtful. 

Clarke shook her head, but stopped when her vision swam dangerously and the throbbing at the base of her neck worsened. 

Bellamy stepped forward, the two disciples keeping everyone at bay with guns, ready in case anyone jumped forward. 

“Bellamy! Come on man, she-” Miller began, but he stopped when a disciple clipped him in the shoulder. 

“Don’t touch her,” Echo hissed between her teeth, eyes sharp and dangerous. 

Bellamy ignored them, and continued approaching Clarke’s hunched figure. She shrank back, fear paralyzing her.

She would break. She couldn’t stand another session. She would have to relive all her mistakes, feel all of her pain and grief and sorrow and anger. She would have to watch her loved ones die, over and over and _over._ She would give everything away, and he would hurt the people she loved most.

He would hurt  _ Madi _ .

Bellamy reached forward, his shadow falling over her, and Clarke lashed out like a cornered animal with nowhere to go.

Her fist connected with his nose, and a sickening  _ crack  _ echoed through the room. Clarke could feel Bellamy’s bone snap beneath her knuckles, could watch as his head whipped back. He grunted, taken by surprise. There were a few gasps, and the disciples went still in utter shock.

Bellamy stumbled back, hands reaching up to cradle his broken nose, blood spattering his robes. Clarke felt some of it land on her cheek, but she didn’t flinch. 

She stood still, panting, tense. Clarke would fight until her last dying breath.

For her daughter. 

“Don’t. Please,” she whispered, voice shaking. Bellamy removed his hands, looking down at the blood that covered his fingers. It continued to seep down his face, staining his teeth as it dripped from his lips into his mouth, which had fallen open. Clarke could hear him breathing loudly, but whether that be out of anger, astonishment, or pain, she couldn’t tell. 

The flashes came again.

Clarke’s hands, coated in Finn’s blood, seeping underneath her fingernails, into the cracks and wrinkles of her palms.

Coated in blood the color of a night without stars, blood that stained her very soul and the furs her love had died upon, Lexa’s blood. 

Her own blood, her hands covered in blisters and burnt skin. 

It was too much. Clarke couldn’t live with this much grief, sorrow. 

She wailed, hands reaching up to clutch her temples. 

“Stop it. Make it stop,” she begged, sobbing. Bellamy watched her, puzzled. 

“Make what stop?” he asked, almost sounding like his old self. 

Atom, smiling warmly to Octavia.

Atom’s glassy eyes as she sank a knife into his throat, humming softly, his blood spilling over her knuckles. 

Dante Wallace telling her that none of them had a choice.

Dante Wallace’s choked gasps as he bled out, the gun that killed him still in her trembling hand, his eyes wide in shock as her own filled with tears.

“The ghosts. Make it stop,” Clarke repeated. She sank to her knees, curling in on herself, touching her forehead to her thighs. “I’m sorry! I don’t want to remember!” she shouted.

Abby, hugging her tightly while she cried, shielding her from the world and the fresh grief of losing her father.

Abby as she stared into Clarke’s eyes, her fingernails digging into her arm. The emptiness of the air around her as the airlock fulfilled its purpose.

“I didn’t want to, I swear, I promise, I had to do it, there was no choice, no way out,” Clarke whispered to herself, her words slurring together. 

Suddenly, someone was gathering her in their arms.

“Leave,” Hope said harshly, pushing Bellamy back. 

Surprisingly, he obeyed without protest, and Clarke heard the disciples follow him, their guns powering off as they marched out.

“It’s ok,” Raven whispered, holding Clarke tightly while she cried. “It’s not your fault. It never was.” Clarke clutched the mechanic’s shirt in her fist, sobbing into her shoulder. “It’ll be ok.”

Clarke couldn’t tell if those were empty promises or just words of comfort. 

In a way, they were the same. 

An attempt to try and fill the void that was left.

A futile one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! this chapter was shorter than the last, but I hope it fulfilled your fanfic needs. 
> 
> any feedback is appreciated! :) I will most likely be updating in another two days. look forward to more Bellamy and Clarke angst in the future.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would honestly recommend listening to In This Shirt by The Irrepressibles while reading this (if you can, I know some people need silence to read). I was listening to it on a loop while writing this, and all I can say is it was an experience. 
> 
> enjoy!

Clarke continued to drift in and out of sleep for the next two days. She only threw up a couple more times before the nausea finally dissipated, as well as the flashes of memories that haunted her in sleep and wakefulness.

That was unless you counted nightmares.

When she was awake, Clarke would stay as far from the door as possible, watching it closely, listening for footsteps. 

Levitt had told Octavia that he had managed to keep Cadogan from taking her to another session for a few days, but he didn’t know how long it would last. The high and mighty Shepherd seemed fixed on getting the information he wanted, no matter the effect on his victim.

They didn’t take anyone else, and Clarke assumed that Cadogan wanted to see the satisfaction of her breaking. They were only ever disturbed by someone sliding food, water, and in the beginning, the occasional cleaning supplies after one of Clarke’s messes through a hole that opened in the door. 

At first, she barely spoke, only answering questions as necessary. Slowly however, she began to withdraw less, joining into more conversations, giving more detailed responses.

With time, she told them everything she could. How she managed to ground herself with pain, how Bellamy simply watched, which memories they focused on. What it felt like. 

She caught the horrified looks they tried to mask, and she wasn’t insulted. Cadogan tried to act civilized, but truly, he was a demon disguised in a sheep’s wool. 

Octavia brought up her mantra method, and Clarke thanked her for the suggestion. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to remember when the time came, or if it would work for different people, considering Clarke wasn’t one to use mantras, but she appreciated any input.

On the fourth day, they came. 

There must have been hidden cameras somewhere. That was the day Clarke didn’t have to sleep throughout the day, where she talked and smiled and laughed the most. 

The door slid open with an ominous  _ hiss,  _ and four disciples stalked in, Bellamy not far behind. His nose had been fixed and was now held in place with tape, but bruises lined his eyes like dark circles. It made it appear as though that portion of his face was cast in a shadow, like the villains Clarke had seen in the old movies on the Ark. 

Clarke looked up from her conversation with Miller, and immediately blanched.

It was time. 

The disciples began shouting orders, but Clarke couldn’t hear them. She was paralyzed, frozen in time. 

The others began lining up against the wall, and many protested, but were quickly silenced with a blow. They had known this was inevitable, but Clarke could sense them watching her, terrified for her. Two disciples kept them in line, aiming their lasers at them.

Bellamy stood in the doorway, watching, gaze flicking between Clarke, his sister, and Echo. 

Echo tried reasoning with him, struggling against the disciple who had her pinned against the wall. 

“Bellamy, you and I both know you don’t want this. You don’t want to hurt her more than you already have, you promised to look out for her-” The disciple punched her, and she inhaled sharply, head whipping to the side. 

“Hey, hey, don’t touch her!” Jordan yelled. “Just leave all of us alone!” 

“Bellamy,  _ please _ . Give her more time. This isn’t you,” Octavia begged, craning her neck to face him.

Bellamy didn’t reply, instead looking to the two remaining guards with a wordless command.

They came forward, one reaching to grab Clarke’s arm.

This time, she fought. Clarke bent over and snatched up a canteen full of water that was coincidentally right by her feet. She whirled back around, extending her arm and using her momentum to smack it into the helmet of one of the disciples with so much force it cracked. Their head jerked back, and they fell into the other disciple, both of them collapsing to the floor.

For a moment, there was dead silence, the only noise coming from the broken helmet as it emitted a staticky noise, lights flickering on and off inside of it. 

Then an alarm went off. 

Three more disciples stormed in, guns and blades drawn. 

In her panic, Clarke impulsively threw her canteen, hitting one of them in the stomach. They grunted, doubling over for a moment, but then continued their advance, the other two following. 

Clarke kicked and punched, squirmed, even bit, but they still overpowered her.

She was kicked to her knees, and lifted from beneath her arms. Clarke screamed, writhing, trying desperately to get free, ignoring the pinching of her skin between fingers as she twisted. She tried hurling herself into the wall, tried to drag the disciples with her.

They just clutched her tighter. 

When she tried hurting herself by attempting to slam her head into the edge of the doorway, one of them brought his hand up to grip her face, keeping it in place by roughly grabbing her jaw in his gloved hand. She brought her legs up, trying in vain to wrap herself around the frame of the door, but she was ripped away. 

Her friends could only watch, utter horror etched across their faces. 

“Bellamy, Bellamy  _ please _ ,” Clarke shrieked, voice slightly garbled due to the hand on her face. She knew she sounded like a lunatic, and she didn’t care. Her legs flailed helplessly. “I can’t go back, please Bellamy!” She grabbed at a table right inside of the door, trying desperately to get them to release her, but they pulled her forward, and the vase in the middle clattered to the floor, shattering on impact. The glass shards flew up towards her face, and Clarke had to jerk her head around. 

Bellamy didn’t respond, only watched with a blank expression. 

Clarke was hauled down the hallways as she tried several methods to slow them down. She tried sagging so that she was complete dead weight, but the disciples carrying her didn’t even falter. She tried thrashing in their arms, screaming curses and threats, but even the clusters of lower level disciples passing them didn’t bat an eye. 

They dragged her into the white room, strapped her to the chair, now free of her blood. 

As if it never happened.

Clarke was protesting the whole time, but the second the last restraint was in place, she went slack. She had to save her energy. She had to fight. 

Cadogan, who was smiling triumphantly, practically strutted in with Bellamy in tow.

“Dreading your next session, hm?” he taunted. Clarke glared at him, her jaw clenched. Her eyes burned every time she blinked, but she refused to cry, at least until the machine was on, until she couldn’t control it. 

“Turn it on,” he ordered Shauna, the woman in charge of M-Cap. The needle slowly lowered, and Clarke’s breathing quickened, panic tightening her throat. 

She watched as it powered on, her entire body going tense in anticipation. 

The head restraints locked into place.

The light flickered on, blinding her for a moment. 

Shauna turned her glasses on, swiping at something invisible. 

“Clarke, you’re in an endless desert desert with a vast purple sky. A hand reaches out for your own. Whose is it?”

Pain erupted across her temples, like a fire that couldn’t be smothered. Clarke heard her jaw pop in the effort to keep from screaming. 

_ Let it ground you.  _

“You don’t have to fight it. Tell us, and this will all be over,” Bellamy urged, almost sounding upset. 

Bellamy. Her best friend. She used to trust him with her life. 

He used to be the one she turned to when things got hard. He always understood her, didn’t judge her for the hard decisions she had to make. 

Now she could barely look at him.

When she was alone after Praimfaya, with only the radio, and the gun pressed against her head, she would have been able to answer the question in an instant.

She would have wanted Bellamy. 

“Neural link engaged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all liked it! :) when I was writing this I was very proud about the cliffhanger I'm leaving you guys on. 
> 
> It's gonna take me longer to update for the next couple chapters because I start school again tomorrow (and I'm pretty positive my teachers are planning on piling on the work), so I apologize about that. Don't worry, it shouldn't be too long in between, four days at most.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the second to last chapter! sorry this is posted a bit later than usual (I try to post in the mornings) I've been a bit busy. 
> 
> anyways, last time I received good feedback on my music suggestion, so I'll continue to do that. this time a have a couple songs, Where Is My Mind by Pixies and Loving & Losing by Delaney Bailey. in my opinion, these aren't as powerful as the last song, but I still like them and think they fit well. 
> 
> if anyone else has good suggestions, feel free to comment!
> 
> ok, I'm adding this in, but I remembered a song called Bleed for Me by Johnny Goth. I prefer the acoustic version for this fic, I think it fits well. I also found that the slowed+reverb version (you can find it on youtube) sounds AMAZING and I thought it went super well, but the normal version works as well!

They had been at it for hours, possibly days. Cadogan hadn’t held back this time, and this session was much more brutal than the last. Clarke’s throat was raw from screaming, and her brain felt like jello. Her eyes were heavy, and she was close to passing out. 

“Clarke. Show us where the Key, your so-called ‘flame’ is.” She was breathing hard, and another shriek was ripped from her throat as her back arched, head slamming back into the seat. Her sweat had made it slick, and the odd texture made her shiver harder. 

She had tried the mantra Octavia suggested, but it was hard to focus on one sole thing. Her thoughts would wander dangerously close to the memories they wanted. 

Clarke had tried ‘ _ jus drein jus daun _ ’, something she may not agree with completely, but a familiar chant. 

That just made her think painful thoughts about Lexa, one of them being their march to Mt. Weather. Clarke began to cry when a memory of her and the Commander locking eyes amidst their armies came up, the emotions she had felt in the moment bubbling up.

She could still feel the love she had tried so hard to stuff down, the want, even some of the old hatred. She could still feel the warmth that surged through her as they gazed into each other's eyes, the heat that flushed her cheeks, and the tug of her lips pulling upwards. She could see with complete clarity the flash of tenderness in Lexa’s eyes, something she rarely ever allowed to show through, especially in public. It was a sharp contrast to warpaint on her face, and the fierce look she wore that made her eyes as piercing as a sword. 

Clarke could still feel the sensation of nearly melting into the moss below them as a small smile graced Lexa’s face, lighting it up in a way that made Clarke want to feel this way forever, trapped in each other’s gaze for eternity. 

Clarke made a desperate choking sound, her grief consuming her at the realization she would never get that back.

Never. 

Clarke pushed the memory from her mind, but the thought of Commanders was still fresh, and a memory of Madi giving a speech before Wonkru popped up. 

Beside her, Cadogan made a pleased noise in the back of his throat, and a wave of helpless panic washed over Clarke. She was going to give it all away, and he was going to go to Sanctum and steal her daughter away to lock her in this room, just like he was doing to her. 

He was going to  _ hurt  _ her.

The helplessness was quickly replaced by white-hot fury, and Clarke began to thrash in the chair, some of her energy renewed. 

No.  _ No _ . She was  _ not  _ going to let that happen. 

Clarke thrust her head into the spikes holding her in place to expel the memory, not hesitating to think about what she was doing. The burst of blood running down the side of her head managed to distract her long enough to come up with something else.

_ Think of the beginning. _

The crisp air as the dropship door opened.

The wonder that filled Wells’ eyes.

The way the leaves rustled, the birds sang. 

The clear river, how it sparkled in the sunlight.

How naive they had been, thinking they had it so hard.

Clarke thrashed harder, the restraint biting into the wounds they had already created, fresh pain exploding from her temples. 

“Bellamy. Break her,” Cadogan ordered. Clarke sobbed softly, trembling from the effort of fighting. 

“Clarke. Madi had the Key last. Where is it now?” Clarke screamed again, closing her eyes tight. She felt like she was on fire, being sacrificed for the greater good, like the followers of the Primes had done back on Sanctum. 

The bright flowers she had passed, the huge waterfall.

The two headed deer that left her breathless.

The way fish darted in water, scales sleek and smooth. 

Through her thoughts, Clarke could hear her own voice, the cries that came from her own body.

“Get out of my head!” she howled, her legs spasming as tears fell into her already blood-crusted hair. “Get out!”

Flashes of more pain and loss filled her thoughts, and Clarke wailed, long and low. The sound surprised even her, full of grief, wild and animalistic. 

“Sir, she can’t handle much more. Her brain will hemorrhage. She’ll seize, and will have no use.”

“Very well. Clarke, I hope you’re aware we gave you several chances. It could have been different. Bellamy. Do it.” Clarke heard the machine powering off, and she opened her eyes wearily, blinking away tears, sweat, and blood. She gasped, breath hitching. 

Bellamy held a small blade to his throat, small enough to fit in his pocket, gaze unwavering.

“I’ll do it Clarke. Tell us where it is.” Clarke gaped at him, unsure of what to do. 

She couldn’t tell them where it was. She couldn’t risk Madi like that, her family like that.

But Bellamy was her family too, her best friend. At least, he had been.

Could she throw that all away?

Bellamy pushed the knife deeper, and a rivulet of blood ran down his throat. She watched as it caught in a line of folded skin, then dropped onto his robes, leaving a small red dot.

“He’s not bluffing Clarke. Will you really let him die?”

She couldn’t think straight. She was tired, dizzy, hurt. 

But she couldn’t let him kill himself. She didn’t know if she could be the reason for another death. For  _ his  _ death.

Clarke couldn’t just  _ watch  _ as he bled out, or choked to death. She couldn’t watch the life leave his eyes knowing she had the opportunity to prevent it. 

She wouldn’t be able to handle it, and she had to stay strong for her people.

And, though she hated to admit it, she was still hopeful that Bellamy would turn, would hug her, both of them crying as they apologized, would help them win this fight. She was hopeful they could lead together, side by side, like they used to. 

It felt like only yesterday he had told her he was willing to give her forgiveness.

Just as he raised his chin, ready to cut deeply and purposefully, she called out. 

“Wait.” He froze, gazing into her eyes, challenging her. Clarke sobbed, closing her eyes in defeat, voice dropping down to a whisper. “Wait. I’ll tell you.” 

_ You win. Happy? _

Cadogan smiled, clapping his hands together.

“Wonderful! Bellamy, please return her to her cell. I’m sure Clarke is  _ very  _ tired. We can discuss logistics later.” 

Clarke didn’t bother to open her eyes, even when Bellamy undid the restraints, pulling her up into a standing position. Her legs wobbled, and he bundled her into his side, settling her arm over his shoulder. One of his arms looped around her waist, the other holding a brown package. 

Clarke was too tired to protest, and she let him carry her along. 

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke.

“You’re warm.” Clarke didn’t make any indication that she had heard him. She knew she was still covered in blood, tears streaking her cheeks, and sweat soaking her body, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “You shouldn’t have fought it. You’ve hurt yourself.” Clarke’s eyes flew open in disbelief, and she quickly pushed him away from her. She stumbled, leaning heavily against the wall, her breathing shallow, the floor spinning. 

“ _ You  _ did this,” she spat ruefully, limping forward towards the cell door. She was on the verge of collapsing, but she wasn’t about to let Bellamy touch her again. Giving her a sideways glance, he leaned down for the eye scanner, and the door slid open. 

Without waiting for him to say anything, Clarke stepped inside, her knees immediately buckling.

Niylah, who had luckily been standing right by the door, caught her, eyes widening in surprise as she let out a small noise of shock. She lowered them both to the floor, her movements slow and careful. Her skin felt cold, and Clarke began to shiver even more violently, her teeth rattling. Niylah looked down at her, concerned.

“Clarke!” Octavia cried out, rushing forward. She stopped, looking up to Bellamy. “What are you doing here?” she asked coldly. “Leave.” 

For a moment, he looked awkward, out of place. But then, he seemed to regain his confidence. He held out the small package. 

“For her fever,” he stated simply. He undid the string that held the plastic wrapper together, and inside was a small container of paste, and a rag soaked in some form of liquid. Leaning down towards Clarke, he went to place it on her forehead. 

Clarke scrambled backwards, out of Niylah’s arms. 

“D- Don’t,” she panted, stuttering a bit as her teeth chattered. “Don’t you dare t-touch m-me again, y-you  _ monster _ . I’ll n-never forgive you. Never.” Bellamy had the audacity to look hurt.

“I’m trying to help you,” he said factually. Clarke turned to her side, spitting a wad of black blood out of her mouth. Probably from when she’d bitten her tongue at some point. 

“Y-you’ve done plenty,” she hissed, pushing herself to her feet. She swayed unsteadily, tremors wracking her body, but stepped away from the hands that tried to help her. She stalked forward, face to face with Bellamy and his stupid white robes. “Go float yourself.” 

She waited for a moment, and then he seemed to give in. He pushed the package into her hands, and she rocked back on her heels, thrown off balance. Sighing, he strode out of the cell, the door closing behind him.

The second he was gone, Clarke’s legs gave out, her eyes rolling back into her head. She wasn’t conscious long enough to feel herself hit the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! I tried to make sure this chapter wasn't too repetitive with the other m-cap session (chapter 1)
> 
> also, while writing the part when Bellamy held the knife to his throat, and we were reading Clarke's inner thoughts, I did find it a bit ironic, considering what actually happened in season seven. I felt this reaction would be more true to Clarke's character :) (yes this is a passive aggressive smiley face JASON) 
> 
> look forward to more clexa mentions in the final chapter :) (this is not a passive aggressive smiley face btw) chapter six is already looking like it's gonna be quite a bit longer so it will probably take me longer to post, maybe not until Sunday.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the final chapter! I'm sorry it took me this long to post, I was planning on posting yesterday, but school and life got in the way, and I didn't have a lot of motivation. 
> 
> also, slight warning, there are a couple curse words in here, so I'm gonna have to change the rating
> 
> unfortunately I don't have any song recommendations for this chapter, I'm sorry :( if anyone does feel free to comment! 
> 
> also to my clexa stans yes I was in pain writing this.

This time when she woke up, the rush of memories and emotions didn’t seem as extreme. Clarke had already experienced it. 

Her eyes fluttered open, and she blinked, trying to see in the dim light. For a moment, she panicked. Had they brought her back to the white room? A different cell?

She sat up quickly, and a wave of dizziness crashed over her. Clarke swallowed down her nausea. She didn’t have time to be weak right now. 

As her eyes adjusted, she realized with immense relief that she was still in a cell with the others. All of the lights had been turned off, but Clarke could still make out their sleeping forms. Gabriel, who had apparently been on watch, was asleep, slumped next to the door. 

As Clarke went to stand, she realized that Raven had been sleeping next her, arm slung over her chest in a protective manner. She took a moment to watch her, her face innocent, almost happy, as she slept.

It had been a while since Clarke had seen her so at ease. 

Raven, telling her she was no better than Octavia, tears glimmering in her eyes.

Raven, telling her it should have been _her_ , not Shaw.

Raven, glaring at her from across the room, eyes alight with unrestrained fury. 

_No, stop, stop, stop. She forgave you. We made up._

_They’re old memories._

_They’re in the past now._

Clarke took a deep, calming breath, and stood carefully, supporting herself against the wall, but taking care to be quiet. She stretched, trying to assess the state of her body.

She was sore, a little stiff, but nothing too bad. She had a headache, and her jaw ached a bit. Her fever was gone now, and there were clean bandages adorning her wrists and feet, as well as on the sides of her head. 

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Clarke took an unsteady step forward. At least her legs were working fine. When she took another, something crunched beneath her shoes, and she yelped quietly, jumping back. 

Clarke heard someone mumble something incoherent, and she cursed inwardly, glancing behind her. Hope, apparently a light sleeper, was rolling over, adjusting her position. Clarke remained deathly still, and exhaled slowly when Hope settled.

She wasn’t sure exactly _why_ she was so afraid of someone waking up, perhaps simply because she didn’t want any attention, or because she wanted some time alone, with peace and quiet. Either way, she was relieved that Hope hadn't seen her. 

Squinting, she kneeled down, trying to make out the object she had stepped on. Brushing her hands lightly across the ground, Clarke felt something sharp. She snatched her hand back, surprised, then carefully picked it up. 

Bringing it closer to her face, Clarke froze.

It was a piece of a vase.

The one she had broken when the disciples took her.

Bellamy, staring at her blankly while she screamed.

Her friends, watching helplessly while she fought, biting and scratching like a lunatic. 

The vase, toppling over, shattering, like broken fragments of light. 

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, trying to get the images out of her mind. She couldn’t afford to be haunted right now. 

Not when she had to save her friends. 

_Yes. Save my_ _friends_.

Clarke took a moment to ponder on that thought. 

She couldn’t let Bellamy kill himself, couldn’t let herself watch while he slit his throat. She would never forgive herself. 

At the same time, how could she put Madi in danger? How could she let herself give away precious information about Sanctum, about the people that lived there? How could she let herself put her friends and family on the line? 

She was stuck. 

They already knew about Madi. That, she was sure of. Out of the two options Cadogan could question who were alive, her daughter had the Flame for the longest. Clarke worried at her lower lip, a bad habit she had developed over her many years of making difficult decisions. 

Could she bluff again? Probably not, considering Bellamy would call her out. Could she somehow limit details? 

But, how could she? There was no way to deny that Madi had their ‘Key’ for the longest, that she knew the most about it. 

_Either way, I’m fucked._

Clarke wanted to scream, cry, yell, but she couldn’t. She had no way out of this. She was out of lies. 

She had to strike a deal. 

Suddenly, the lights flickered on, and Clarke cried out, using her hands to shield her face. The shard of the vase she was holding fell to the ground.

As her eyes adjusted, she heard the others groaning, or mumbling incoherently. Gabriel shot to his feet, nearly falling over in his haste. 

When she was able to see, Clarke immediately frowned, then quickly stood. 

Cadogan stood in the doorway, flanked by two disciples. Bellamy stood behind him, hands folded at his waist. 

“Clarke?” Raven asked drowsily from the bed behind her. Clarke tilted her head in the general direction of her voice to acknowledge she heard her, but didn’t take her eyes off of Cadogan. 

“Ah, Clarke,” he drawled. “Glad to see you’re awake and recovering.” She remained silent, glowering angrily. 

_No thanks to you._

“What are you doing here?” Miller asked, looking between the leader and Clarke, his brow furrowed. 

“Why, to discuss our arrangements. Did you not know?” Cadogan asked, voice laced with fake curiosity. He raised his eyebrows pointedly at Clarke, who clenched her jaw. 

Bellamy stepped forward, raising the knife he had threatened her with earlier. 

“Do you need to be reminded?” 

“No,” Clarke murmured, gaze flicking down to the floor. She hated being so out of control, feeling so weak. 

Cadogan approached slowly, robes swishing across the floor. Before Clarke could register what he was doing, he had his hand raised to her face, and was brushing his fingers across her bandages.

A chill ran down her spine, and in a flash, she was gripping his wrist. In one quick movement, she twisted his hand awkwardly so that he couldn’t move, and pulled him closer, so that they were merely inches apart. 

“Touch me again,” she snarled, glaring directly into his eyes, “and I’ll kill every person in this godforsaken compound. You’ll watch, as they all bleed out, as they moan and cry out in pain, as they _suffer_ , and know it was _you_ who caused it. I will throw you into a dark, silent cell, isolated from everyone except your ghosts and regrets. Maybe then you’ll understand what you did to everyone you’ve tortured ” 

Cadogen looked taken aback, his mouth having fallen open. Clarke dropped his hand, stepping back. 

“Is that a threat to the Shepherd?” Bellamy asked after a beat of silence. He tried to sound menacing, but failed, his voice holding a note of shock.

Apparently disciples couldn't _bear_ the thought that not everyone likedor worshipped Mr. High And Mighty Bill Cadogan.

Clarke swung her head to glare at him. She was tired of being afraid.

“A promise. If he dares betray me, I’ll see it through. I swear to _God_ Bellamy, I will. Don’t ever fucking underestimate me. I thought you knew that, but apparently you never learned.” 

The room went deathly silent, everyone staring at Clarke. 

“Clarke,” Octavia started hesitantly, “what did you do?” Clarke spun to face her, trying to soften her fierce expression. 

“Nothing yet. We haven’t agreed upon anything official.” 

“Agreed? On what?” Echo interjected, her eyes narrowed. 

“On an agreement for the Key,” Cadogan said, his voice smug. “Clarke decided to tell us willingly in the end.” Clarke looked down, cheeks burning at the look of shock the others gave her. 

“You didn’t give me a choice. You forced my hand,” she said angrily. Cadogan gave her a sideways glance. 

“You could have let Bellamy die for your people, just as he is willing to let others die for all of mankind. It was a choice. Now. Your terms?” His tone, like an adult reprimanding a child who didn’t understand that things have consequences, made her blood boil. Clarke remained silent for a moment, desperately trying to keep rage from showing on her face. 

“I’ll give you the Key willingly. I’ll tell you everything I know, I’ll even-” She faltered for a moment, then hardened her resolve. “I’ll go into M-Cap willingly. I won’t fight it this time. I’ll show you everything you need to know.” Cadogan raised his eyebrows, waiting. “However, this means that you let my people go. Let them go back to Sanctum, and don’t involve them in your war. _Especially_ Madi. You’ll leave her alone.” 

“And how do I know you’re not lying?” Clarke took a deep breath through her nose.

“Because, I won’t let my people die. I’m not willing to sacrifice them. Not even traitors,” she spat out, directing her gaze to Bellamy. He didn’t even blink. “You know that from seeing it in person when you threatened me. You also saw it in my mind.” Cadogan smirked at that.

“Yes, like when you killed all those innocents at Mt. Weather for _your people_. Or, perhaps you were referring to another instance? Like when you let all those people in Polis die? For Bellamy, if I’m not mistaken. Ah, or when you left Indra, Gaia, and Bellamy to die in the fighting pits for Madi?” Clarke fought to keep herself in check, to keep her face neutral. “When you betrayed all of ‘Spacekru’, as you call them? There are just so many examples.” 

The memories flashed before her eyes, like they were playing out in front of her. 

He was antagonizing her, and she knew it. She couldn’t show him how it bothered her.

But oh, how nice it would be to snap his neck, to watch his eyes widen with realization-

_Stop. Violence isn’t the answer._

“It doesn’t matter which example you choose. Each difficult decision I made was for my people. You saw what I was willing to sacrifice. When Praimfaya came, I gave my life for the others. I’ll do it again.” Cadogan’s smile didn’t drop.

“Yes, I remember that memory. Those radiation burns seemed quite painful. Weren’t you sick for weeks afterwards?” Clarke’s lips twisted into a grimace, and she narrowed her eyes. 

Clarke, shaking with fever, coughing up blood. 

Clarke, watching the rocket take off without her, her heart dropping down to her stomach. 

“Clarke-” Raven choked out, voice thick with emotion. She sounded guilty, and Clarke turned to her, shaking her head adamantly, tears gathering in her eyes. 

“I’d relive it over and over again if I had to save them again. I never have, and never will regret it. Not even then.” Raven sniffled, and Echo rubbed her arm soothingly, an awkward motion, as if she wasn't used to it. Cadogan chuckled, and Clarke turned back to him, jaw clenched. 

“You’re wrapped up in your own emotions, Clarke. Too loyal to useless people, if you ask me. When they finally came down, after an extra year of waiting, hoping and hoping that they would show up, the first thing they did was start a war. Destroy the haven you created. Doesn’t that make you _angry_? Why do you still stand by them, putting your life at risk? Why not become part of a much bigger cause, with people who don’t take you for granted?” Cadogan leaned down, a pitying look painted on his face. Clarke hissed out a breath, fists clenching, before then forcing herself to relax. 

“It did. It still does sometimes. But there’s no point in being angry anymore. What’s done is done. Now we’re starting over. I refuse to let my people take part in your war.” Cadogan didn’t waver.

“Why, after they hated you, after they insulted you every chance they got, did you stick with them? They nearly drove you past the edge during the Eclipse. You held a scalpel to your throat over to the things _they_ told you, the things they blamed you for. Why didn’t you speak your mind? I know you wanted to tell them how _they_ ruined things too.” Clarke nearly lunged to get him to shut up, but she forced herself to remain still.

“Clarke, what is he talking about?” Echo breathed, eyes wide as she realized what Cadogan had said. “You wanted to kill yourself?”

Clarke didn’t want to talk about this anymore, not with everyone watching, not with them hearing her thoughts and feelings she didn’t want to ever share, but it was obvious Cadogan wouldn’t let it go. 

She turned to face Echo, wringing her hands. 

“The Red Sun toxin. It made me- I heard my mother’s voice from a radio, telling me to-” She faltered, hand rising to rub at her throat. “She told me to take a scalpel and cut deep. To protect everyone, to protect Madi. She said I was a cancer, that I had to be eliminated, before I killed everyone I love. I almost went through with it, but Murphy found me first.” They all went deathly silent, gaping at her, and Clarke turned away, not able to bear it. 

“They’re my people. I won’t abandon them. Sure, it hurt, but even then, I loved them. We all make mistakes. We all look at things wrong. In the valley, I had plenty of time to think, and I realized, there are no good or bad guys. It’s either kill, or get killed, survive, or die. Simple as that. We all have valid reasons for doing what we do. The Mountain Men did, Pike did, Titus did, the Ice Nation did. I did when I killed others, my people did when they hated me, my mother did when she turned my father in and got him floated. Even you and Bellamy do.” Her voice went wistful, anger dissipating. “We all did things we regret, and things we stand by to this day. To survive.”

Glancing back, she saw the others looking on sadly, and she gave them a gentle smile. 

Cadogan went silent, eyes scanning her face. 

He was definitely trying to find another manipulative thing to say. 

“Did your Lexa not once say that life was about more than just surviving? On her deathbed, even?”

Well then. He found another manipulative thing to say. 

Clarke inhaled sharply at the memory, her breath catching. Even _she_ wasn't expecting him to go for such a low blow. For a moment, her anger surfaced, and she found herself clenching her fists, ready to swing them into Cadogan’s jaw.

_How_ dare _he speak of her._

A violent image came to mind, her fist connecting with his cheek, the _crack_ of the impact. His pained gasp, blood dripping from his mouth, and Clarke panting triumphantly. She could imagine it vividly, and it satisfied the fire burning in the pit of her stomach for a moment. 

_Stop. Don’t give in to these thoughts. For Madi._

The voice in her head sounded just like Lexa, and a wave of sadness crashed over Clarke again, grief and longing and horrible sorrow all over again.

She would give anything to be in her arms again, to trace her fingers over the lines of her tattoos, to breathe in her scent of fire and trees, of rain and the fresh breeze that always stirred her hair when she sat utop her horse regally, as if out of a fairytale. 

Tears welled in her eyes, and Clarke blinked rapidly, trying to keep it together.

“I once believed that,” she said softly, throat aching. “I still do, sometimes, when it applies. But, in the end, all we ever want to achieve is life for ourselves and our loved ones. That can mean giving up your future for theirs, but in the end, all you want is survival for someone, even if it isn’t yourself.

“Sometimes though, humans can be remarkable and selfless and full of love, and achieve the freedom of realizing that, yes, life _is_ about more than surviving. But it is hard to reach, and it doesn’t last forever. I learned that the hard way.”

Clarke felt that the moment she had kissed Lexa for the second time, as they lay in bed together, bodies curled together like pieces of a puzzle, curving to fit perfectly. She felt the freedom just as clearly as she could feel the lust that had surged through her, coiling in her stomach, making them both bold and excited.

She could feel it like the heat of their bodies among a tangle of furs, making her sweat, but also making her feel more at home than she’d ever felt, and she remembered never wanting to leave, dreading the time for them to part.

In the end, they should have stayed. Maybe then she would still be here.

She could feel it like Lexa’s warm breath against her neck, the soft caress of her lips over Clarke’s skin that made her shiver in pleasure, the brush of her hair as she leaned over Clarke, grinning smugly, stealing all the air from her lungs. 

And then it had been ripped away from her, without warning, and it was gone. 

_Forever_.

Cadogan frowned, looking slightly amused, yet puzzled. He gave a simple, disappointed shake of his head. 

“Very well,” he sighed. “I can see you’ve made up your mind. We’ll travel to Sanctum together, bring your people, and you’ll come back with the Key. I’ll keep you here as long as necessary, and when we have all the information we need, you can go back, if you haven’t decided you want to join us.” Clarke nodded. This was the best option. 

His resignation and lack of further argument made her feel satisfied, as if she had won, but she knew better. 

“That’s the agreement.” Cadogan held out his hand, and although it disgusted her, Clarke shook it. The second he turned around, she wiped her hands furiously against her pants. 

“We’ll leave tonight to escort your people home,” he called on his way out. Bellamy lingered for a moment, still watching Clarke. The others remained respectfully silent, but Clarke could sense it was partly from shock. She was dreading the conversation they were about to have. 

“Do you understand now? Why I’m doing this?” he asked, air buzzing with tension. Clarke sighed, bending to gently sweep the broken vase into the corner, unable to stand still. 

“I’m trying to. In a way I do, but not really. I understand you’ve lost so many people, Bellamy. I understand the horrible pain, the gaping hole it leaves in your chest. I understand the fear it brings, the paralyzing idea that it could happen again, over and over, and that you’ll have to face that grief forever, without escape. But this isn’t the way to do it, to save everyone. Torturing people?” Clarke lifted her gaze, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Torturing me? Being ok with them torturing _Octavia_ , your sister?” 

“It didn’t have to be like this. You didn’t have to fight. If you had complied, there would be no pain. You wouldn’t have to relive the deaths all over again.” A surge of anger began to flow through her again. She straightened, turning to meet Bellamy’s eyes.

He almost looked confused, and she had the urge to strangle him.

“Yes it did,” she replied softly. “I always fight Bellamy. I fight and I fight and I _fight_. I give everything, and I almost gave everything strapped into that chair while you _watched._ You watched me, with no remorse, while I screamed and cried and bled. You stared while I relived my father’s, my mother’s, Wells’, Finn’s, Lexa’s death, over and over and over, and you didn’t give a single damn how I felt about it.” Bellamy’s brow furrowed, and he looked to the floor, like a child being berated for stealing candy. This only fueled her. 

“It took me years to get over these things, to stop feeling guilty every day, to stop crying myself to sleep, to stop wishing for them so hard I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I haven’t even had time to grieve for my mother because I’m still waiting for the day when I don’t owe anything to my people, something I thought you and I could do together. I had to act as peacemaker while people somehow managed to remind me of it every day. I didn’t ever think one of those people would be you.”

“It didn’t have to come to that,” he said adamantly, like he believed in every word that came out of his mouth. 

And he did. He believed it with his whole heart, enough that he was willing to break the one and only Clarke Griffin, enough that he was willing to kill himself, to threaten her with his own life. 

It used to be that they faced these things _together_.

“I’m sorry, Bellamy,” she whispered. He blinked, taken by surprise. He obviously wasn't expecting any sort of apology, and if she was honest, Clarke hadn't been expecting one to come out of her mouth. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you to face whatever you experienced when we were apart. I’m sorry I couldn’t stand by your side so we could be the head and the heart _together_. I don’t know what you went through, what you experienced and what hardships you dealt with. I wish I could understand why you’re doing this, truly I do.”

_Maybe then it would hurt less._

“Join our cause, and you will. You will understand, Clarke,” Bellamy urged, taking a step forward, a fierce look in his eyes. Clarke shook her head, swallowing past the lump in her throat. She tried to ignore the way his face crumbled a bit at her rejection. 

“You’re willing to sacrifice people with little thought, you’re willing to start another war. I know I’ve hurt a lot of people. I know I’ve hurt _you_ . I know I’ve been a part of war and death. And I don’t want that anymore. We came here for a new beginning, for _peace_. Russell tried to rip that away, and now so does Cadogan. 

“I won’t join you. I won’t let you hurt my family, the people I love. I won’t contribute to this. Even if your war is for the greater good. We don’t know if you’re right, and I’m not willing to sacrifice everyone for that chance. I’m sorry. I wish I could see things your way, I wish we could stand together on this.” 

“You’ll see Clarke,” Bellamy said sadly, shaking his head. “You’ll thank us when this is all over. The Shepherd thanks you for your cooperation in the end.” He sounded so cold, so unlike himself that a tear made its way down Clarke’s cheek. Without waiting for her reply, Bellamy swept out of the room, the door sliding shut after him. 

It felt like goodbye.

Clarke wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming. She took a deep, shuddering breath, attempting to calm herself. 

A sad, nostalgic feeling bloomed in her chest. All she wanted was for things to go back to normal, at least, as normal as possible. 

What she would give to be back in Sanctum, in their little house, eating soup and laughing and living their lives. 

Now they were fractured, with Bellamy on the opposing side. 

Although she won this battle, it felt as though she was losing the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! thank you so much for the support I have received :)
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this! I have a lot of other fics in the making and also some that are ready to post, just so you guys know (there is a clexa one-shot coming soon) 
> 
> have a great day, eat food, drink water, and thank you for reading! <3


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